


some time around two a.m

by earliegrey



Series: our footsteps are music [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Third year!verse, rating around T+ to M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earliegrey/pseuds/earliegrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If it’s just this, it’s fine,” Kagami whispers, pushing himself up on one elbow, and leaning over. Aomine parts open his lips as Kagami bends down to kiss him, lips soft and deliberate.</p><p>(One of those countless stories from their summer training camp; Kagami can be a very annoying tease sometimes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	some time around two a.m

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Earlie here again, quicker than normal! ^q^/ Uwahaha, I just wanted to write this thing because I was inspired to just write this little...drabble. Well, it could be a drabble if it was shorter, I have no idea why it's gotten so long. TqT;;; 
> 
> So brief introduction to the verse: They're all third years, Kagami is the captain of Seirin, and Aokaga is already established. And I guess the running theme in this verse is that they are trying to hide their relationship from their underclassmen. ^q^!!
> 
> This story takes place in the summer where three schools (Seirin, Touou, Shutoku) are training together. There's just so many possibilities of things happening during the training camp that I wanted to write, but here is just one. So, Just go along with me, okay~? ^q^//
> 
> It’s rated from T+ to M, meaning that it sort of dips into a bit more than sugar and fluff, but not quite there. So if you’re okay with that, please read on ahead~
> 
> Like always, please excuse typos! TvT/ Please enjoy~

He’s already flipped through pictures and read through a bunch of messages, both from this year and the years prior, but the small blinking number on the top still reads  _2:39._  Aomine is definitely persuaded that times moves infinitely slower throughout the night.

There isn’t really a reason why he should be awake. He should be exhausted after another intense day during summer camp. They had two practice matches (against Seirin and Shutoku, respectively,) and played a serious game of cops and robbers—losers as robbers (Seirin; only because the regulars were benched,) second place as cops (Touou; because Aomine decided to go missing again,) and the first place (Shutoku with Midorima and his infallible shots) getting to be gym-hogs and hone their secret moves away from peering eyes.

Aomine turns over in his futon, blankets askew; the hard, tatami-matted floor does nothing to ease him back into sleep. The inn is silent, except for the collective, soft snores of his teammates sleeping in disarranged rows beside him. The humidity in the summer air outside is soaking through the open windows, and he can hear the faint buzz of mosquitoes trying to break through the screen.

It’s uncomfortably still and too hot to sleep. Aomine rolls over, nearly kicking a foot into Yoshitake’s face. Awake, the point guard is usually composed and serious, but when sleeping, his arms and legs are flung about, mouth open and snoring like a crashing river. “Get back to your own side,” Aomine mumbles and nudges him (with an elbow) to get off the corner of his cushion.

A sleepy sigh later, the point guard rolls over and flings an arm over Sakurai’s foot. Aomine kicks away the rest of the sheets from his foot and stares up at the ceiling before deciding to glance at his phone again. _2:41._

It’s only been two minutes but it felt like ten. Aomine sighs deeply as he blinks slowly at the faint moonlight hitting the wooden beams of the door, and then at the dark shadows painting across the bamboo screen doors, and—

The sound of floorboards creaking makes him startle and drop his phone as the shadow he thought was a shadow had  _moved._ The figure defines into a body huddling near the door, a hand grabs at the frame and shifts it open, quietly.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck—_ Aomine thinks, heart in his throat, and stills his breathing, flopping to the side away from the door, pretending to be dead, because he’s watched enough horror movies to know that  _you just can’t be awake when a murderer walks in—_

Soft thumps, slow and deliberate, steps over his teammates, and walks  _closer_ , until Aomine can hear his own heart thudding precariously in his ears, and feel the weight of the shadow fall over him—

_Shit, he is so dead, what the fuck did he do to deserve this—_

A hushed whisper, “Hey, Aomine—”

He nearly  _shrieks_ , but the voice is familiar, and so are the fingers ruffling (annoyingly) at his hair. He lets out a slow hiss, “Fuck you, Kagami. Fucking scared me—” And he bats away Kagami’s hand, and rolls over to see him, squatting (and dripping water) over him, smelling like the soap from the dispensers in the shower rooms.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake,” Kagami says, not sounding sorry at all with that catty grin on his face. Aomine grumbles and pushes himself up, making room for him to sit on his futon. There are about five bodies between Aomine’s futon and the door, and it’s a wonder that Kagami didn’t step on someone’s face accidentally, given how big he is and how indiscreet he can sometimes be.

“What are you doing here,” Aomine asks, watching Kagami slide the towel away from his neck. His hairs are in thin wisps, still very damp from the shower he took. “It’s rare that you’re the one sneaking onto enemy grounds—”

“It was too hot, so I showered and now I can’t sleep,” Kagami says the most obvious, and peers around at Aomine’s teammates to check if they were really sleeping. “So I thought, if you were awake—which you are—we can.  _You know._ “

Aomine raises an eyebrow at the way Kagami glances at Yoshitake, almost as if he was suspicious that the point guard was awake and eavesdropping. “What?” He feels a laugh in his throat but he squashes it into a scoff. No way, is Kagami suggesting what he thinks he is? “You want to do it now?  _H_ _ere?”_

“Well, not here,” Kagami whispers quickly, brows furrowing. He carefully stands up, making sure not to trip over a misplaced arm (Yoshitake is at it again, rolling around in his sleep.) “How the hell can we? I think the court is still open.”

Aomine stands up after him and watches Kagami tip-toe his way back to the open door. “Court?” he echoes in a loud whisper. Aomine nearly kicks into Endo’s pillow, but he didn’t wake up. “You want to do it outside?” He’s never thought Kagami to be the risky type, but there are a bunch of surprises still left in his boyfriend it seems.

“Yeah?” Kagami mutters, closing the screen door after Aomine stepped out. His voice drops out of a whisper just as he bends over to pick up something that had rolled itself to the side of the hall. Aomine blinks a few times, the object is strangely orange and Kagami juggles it before balancing it on the back of his hand, distracted. “The gym’s closed, but I think they forgot to lock the court gates, we can use that—”

“…you want a one-on one,” Aomine says, blankly, slapping a hand on his face, visibly deflating as Kagami pushes a pair of shoes at him. It’s his, red and black jordans—Kagami probably stole it from his bag at the locker rooms. He stares at it with a grimace. “Why am I not surprised.”

 _Of course,_  it was too good to be true, Kagami’s  _a basketball idiot_ for crying out loud. (Well, okay, Aomine is one, too but the summer camp was  _too_ long and the majority of time they spent together was usually  _not alone_ and  _interrupted_.)

“What else did you think?” Kagami scoffs, incredulous, as they stepped quietly down the halls. The inn is that of an old traditional one, of bamboo screens and never-ending halls that all look the same. There are big rooms, rented out to the three schools and packed with members up to the third-string. “It’s been a while since we played,  _and_  you skipped the practice matches today.”

“Too boring, you weren’t there,” Aomine shrugs, reaching a hand up to scratch at his hair. It’s a bit damp and icky since he’s been rolling around in bed for the last few hours, soaking in the summer heat like a sponge and  _dying_  in it. He follows Kagami around a corner, and absently wonders if he even knows where he’s going.

“I  _was_  there, I just wasn’t playing.” Kagami says, and there’s a door at the end of the hall. Aomine watches Kagami pull socks over his toes and tuck feet into his shoes, tapping it against the ground twice before he steps down the small ledge to the door. He slides it open. “What the hell were you doing anyways?”

“Jogging,” Aomine lied and he follows suit, finishing up a firm knot on his shoes. Apparently, the door led to the back of the inn, expanse of unkempt weeds and dirt ground. The outside court is just a three minute walk away, and beyond that there’s the stretch for forest that they had run through during the day, playing cops and robbers. Speaking of which—

“You sure you aren’t tired from today? Not like I don’t want to play or anything, but if your coach finds out you’re overusing—”

“It’s called training, not overusing.” Kagami scoffs, walking ahead of him and pushing the gate open. It creaks loudly with metal screech and Aomine makes sure to close it behind him after they walk inside. One thump, and then another, Kagami is dribbling the ball on the worn, smooth asphalt. “Besides, we’re just playing. My legs aren’t going to break off any time soon.”

Aomine laughs, as he bends his knees a bit, getting into position just as the ball in Kagami’s hand picks up pace. “Yeah? All right then. No crazy jumps allowed.”

“And no formless shots,” Kagami says with a smirk, just as he swaps hands and the ball bounces—

“Sounds fair,” he says with a nod just as Kagami runs past him.

—

“Dude, you forgot to bring water,” Aomine huffs and wipes at his face with the collar of his tank top.

He lost count on how many times they’ve played, or how many baskets were made—the score between them had blurred sometime after 4-7 (Kagami to Aomine,) and from making simple baskets, the one-on-ones had evolved into things like: who could make the most shots with their eyes closed and guess who’s style of basketball they’re playing (terribly) with—all fun, stupid little games.

Aomine throws himself back onto the floor, mouth drying up. “Kagami, I’m  _dying_ —”

“Shut up, there’s water inside, you drama queen,” Kagami wheezes, breathless. He’s lying spread eagle on the floor, chest rising and falling, thoroughly exhausted. Aomine would be lying if he said he didn’t feel it too—his legs are like jelly and led at the same time. “You know what time it is?”

“Nope. Apparently someone also forgot a phone,” Aomine says after a gulpful of air. He wouldn’t be surprised if it’s nearing five a.m.

Time passes quickly whenever they play on court. Come tomorrow morning, they’ll both have bloodshot eyes and bodies sore as ever, but to be honest, Aomine doesn’t regret it one bit, because it’s been weeks since they played around, laughing at each other with silly grins on their faces.

“Shut up,” Kagami breathes, his breath becoming deeper and leveled.

Aomine doesn’t answer, he feels good, and very sore, but good all the same, just lying on the court with Kagami, muscles loose and body drenched in sweat. He’d be very okay with lying out here until sunrise but then people would wonder where the two of them had gone and if that doesn’t raise suspicion and talk among the underclassmen—well.

(Honestly, Aomine doesn’t really know why it’s a secret, but it just is. Mostly, it’s Kagami’s absolute refusal of letting his underclassmen know, though it’s probably because they just  _hate_  Touou so much and Aomine, even more so.)

“I’m curious,” Kagami suddenly says aloud, breaking the silence. He grunts as he makes the effort to roll right next to Aomine’s side, sticky biceps bumping into his, heat radiating off his skin. “What did you think we were going to do?”

“Hah?” Aomine lazily drawls, turning his head to look at him, blinking when he finds that Kagami is just a few inches away from his face, breathes mixing.

His eyes are red and dark, glinting in that weird way that startles Aomine, because  _wait, wait, wait,_ isn’t Kagami the one who punched him in the gut and warned him off, saying that training camp is training camp and  _nothing else?_

Aomine coughs and turns his head away from Kagami’s expecting stare and the fading mark on his collarbone, just visible from his tank top.

He replies with a loud yawn, and hopes it dispels the odd conversation. “Do you really have to ask? You pop up in our room at two in the morning, ask me to do  _something_  with you, what else am I supposed to think?”

“Oh.” And Aomine can practically feel the change in the air and a shift near his side. “It’s just that—with our teams being here and all, we don’t—” Kagami is picking his words slowly, then he huffs. “—Yeah. Sorry. I just thought we could play on our own.”

“I don’t mind. There’s just a month left ’till the Inter-High right?” Aomine sighs with a lazy smile, shutting his eyes and feeling too tired to get up or move. He takes a deep breath and smells the earthy scent of the forests and the humid air—

Then, Aomine feels Kagami tucking himself against his side, a leg sneaking over his thigh and hand smoothing across the expanse of his abdomen. Kagami’s body is sticky, sweaty, and hot against his. The touch on his chest holds promise, even more of a promise when he feels a breath over his brow.

Aomine almost laughs, “Are you  _serious_ —”

“Hey, I’m a guy too,” he says and Aomine opens his eyes to Kagami hovering over him, a smile curling up the edge of his lips. “We don’t get enough privacy with forty of us crammed in there.”

“No, we don’t,” Aomine agrees with a crooked smile, hand slipping down to grasp at Kagami’s hips, thumb tracing the dips and ridges in the band of his basketball shorts. “But I thought you said—”

“If it’s just this, it’s fine,” Kagami whispers, pushing himself up on one elbow, and leaning over. Aomine parts open his lips as Kagami bends down to kiss him, lips soft and deliberate.

Kagami smells faintly like orange vanilla and dried, sour sweat, a weird combination but still arousing; his blood is beginning to heat. “Just this?” Aomine asks in between the kisses, as he lets his hands wander, fingers trailing around Kagami’s waist and brushing up his spine. He appreciates the soft moan Kagami breathes into his mouth—

A hard grip around his arm stops him, and Kagami has Aomine’s hands pinned to the floor near his head. He’s breathless, lips moist.

“You can’t touch. It’ll be too obvious,” Kagami says, leering. Aomine furrows his brows and frowns up at him.

“Why the fuck not—”

“ _Because_ coach is going to notice and we’re both going to be killed.” Kagami rolls his eyes and sits back a little onto Aomine’s lap—he twitches because Kagami is straddling him now, his weight pressing down on all the wrong (right) places. That bastard is thoroughly enjoying the scowl on Aomine’s face.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you. Are you still pissed about  _that_ —” Aomine asks just as Kagami leans over and presses a open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck.

Aomine lets the words fall back into his throat, as he feels a slow, steady pulse start between his legs and bullets shooting through his veins. He wants to throw Kagami over and under him, but he can only do so much with his body anchored onto the court—

Kagami kisses him again, tongue sliding, wet and warm along the bottom of his lips, and Aomine forgets what he was thinking about.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Kagami murmurs against his mouth, low and silky before a wet heat trails under his ear and presses up into the hollow under his jaw. Aomine tests the hardening grip on his wrists. Not budging.

Aomine’s breath quickens as a heat churns in his gut just as Kagami licks down at his jugular—there’s going to be a dark purple  _thing_  there tomorrow. “This isn’t fair—why do  _you_  get to leave marks.”

“Because you have no self-control, and no one’s going to see these anyways.” Kagami bites at his earlobe, pinching the skin between his teeth before flicking at it with his tongue. A heat flares under Aomine’s skin, a pleasant tingle travels across his veins. “You’re never at the practice games. Sakurai-san goes too easy on you.”

Which does make sense since Aomine had been skipping the routinely, morning match-offs between the three schools almost every day. But still, it’s not fair.

“Right. I suppose things would be different if you were the captain instead, huh?” Aomine says with a weak laugh, and barely swallows a groan when Kagami scrapes a sensitive patch of skin gently with his teeth and then nurses it with his tongue.

“You’re still trying to pressure me to the other side,” Kagami says, amused, and he ducks his head to suck at Aomine’s collarbone, lips ghosting across his skin and breath tickling. Aomine tries to topple Kagami over again, but Kagami sinks blunt fingernails into his arms as a warning. “I can’t transfer midway.”

“You’d never know till you try—”

Kagami pulls himself up to lick at his mouth again, kissing shallowly (a fucking tease, that’s what Kagami is,) and drifting back just as Aomine strains to kiss deeper. A hiss is caught in his throat and Aomine glares at him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a bastard?”

“Yeah, lots of people,” Kagami says, grinning through teeth and Aomine wonders why that is until he chokes at the pressure against his hips, as Kagami rocks  _down,_  sliding their crotches against each another. He’s not aroused yet, but getting there quickly, feeling a building pressure pump through his veins, a hot electricity down his spine and Kagami— _fucking asshole—_ is grinding against him, nibbling down on Aomine’s lower lip and moaning a little at the hot friction between them.

Aomine swears into his mouth– _-fuck you, Kagami, fuck-_ –and Kagami being the greedy glutton he is, swallows it all and keeps Aomine against the floor.

“I swear to god, I’m going to  _slaughter_ you—” Aomine growls in between the kisses Kagami is planting on his lips, light and feathery, slow— _not enough._ Aomine bites at his lips and feels a loud moan vibrating from Kagami’s throat, deep and animalistic.

His pants are starting to get tight and the weight, still on him and restricting him, is starting to piss him off. Aomine growls, tugging against the hands pinning him to the floor—”Kagami, get the fuck off—” There’s a smile curving against his lips before—Kagami lets go.

Aomine’s hands fling up and then fall back to his side, back onto the floor, almost painfully.

It takes him a second to realize that the heat tore itself off him, leaving him gasping in the relatively cooler (but still goddamn hot and humid) air. Like being asleep and splashed with ice water, Aomine blinks stupidly and sees  Kagami standing over him, looking not a hair out of place and dusting his hands off from the dirt on the floor.

“Okay, let’s head back.”

“Are you fucking kidding me—” Aomine snaps as he sits up, feeling a chill wash down his body, like a rude awakening. “What the fuck was all that for?”

Kagami strolls casually toward the ball, bending over to scoop it into his hands. If looks could burn, Aomine would have burned a nice hole through Kagami’s shorts and into his ass right now. (Though he has other things in mind,  _other_  things he wants to do to that asshole (figuratively and literally speaking. Ah hah,  _genius_.))

The rebellious silence Kagami gives him is enough of an answer and Aomine laughs dryly. “Ah. So, you  _are_  still pissed about that—”

“An eye for an eye,” Kagami says finally, turning to look at him with a huff and a smug smirk; his lips are red, swollen from kissing too much, and Aomine sorely wants to bite that smile off his mouth. Maybe shove him against the rickety gates and— “A hickey for a hickey.”

Aomine protests, indignant. “I only gave you  _one_  before you gutted me, bastard—”

“In any case,” Kagami says loudly and walks toward the gate, waving a hand over his shoulder. “I’m going back first. Make sure to skip practice, you don’t want people to ask.”

Aomine flicks a middle finger in his direction as he watches Kagami disappear into the inn.

—

“Aomine-senpai, what…happened to your neck?”

It’s too early in the morning for questions, Aomine thinks tiredly. After the one-on-one with Kagami, Aomine snuck back inside only to find that it was four in the morning. He had about three hours to knock out on his futon before the alarm clock rang.

But three hours isn’t enough.

His body is like dead weight, his muscles screaming bloody murder whenever he walks.

Aomine didn’t exactly sleep in peace.

Who could? After Kagami,  _that fucker,_  teased him until he was half-hard and left him in the middle of it all, he had been tossing and turning on his futon like a restless, mad man. So he’s pretty sure his face looks like shit.

But Endo (oh, his favorite,  _favorite_  small forward) is staring at him suspiciously, eyebrows scrunched at the deep purple blotting his neck for all the world to see. (Endo could also be squinting at him for entirely different reasons; like: wondering why Aomine is with the team, in the gym, wearing a yellow vest with the makeshift number #6 instead of napping off at who-knows-where.

“Well, last night, I was molested—” Aomine begins with a yawn, before a sharp jab in his ribs makes him choke on his words.

When he turns to glare, Kagami is standing by his side with a grin  _too bright for the morning_ , fist kneading painfully into Aomine’s ribs. There’s something menacing in his smile, and he hooks an arm around Aomine’s neck and  _pulls_  him away.

“Sorry, excuse me. I need to talk to your captain—” Before Endo could open his mouth and say another word, Kagami catches himself and remembers that Aomine  _isn’t_  a captain (oh, how  _a lot_  of people make that mistake.) “—Ace. Person, thing. Aha, ha. Sorry for interrupting.”

Aomine lets himself be wrestled off and flaps a casual wave at the alarmed small forward, with a message sort of like— _“Yeah, this is normal. Don’t worry about it. Tell Ryo I’ll be back soon. No, I’m not going to be murdered, it’s fine.”_

Kagami doesn’t drag him very far, only just to the side, underneath the bleachers of the gym. And Aomine is relieved because in the case that Kagami  _does_  want to murder him, he could still scream and have people notice. (Though actually, considering the things Kagami dared pull on him last night, Aomine is surprised Kagami  _had_  the audacity to pull him away.)

Kagami releases his choke hold and crosses his arms, and boy, does he look  _irritated_. “Okay, why the fuck are you here.”

“Why the hell would I not be?” Aomine counters, point blankly, and smooths down the yellow vest that was crumpled from Kagami’s rough handling.

Kagami blinks slowly at him, staring hard before his eyes flicker down to rest at the hickeys he’s left behind all around Aomine’s neck, plain as day, for everyone to see. (Aomine fights away the urge to smile because  _god_ , it’s hilarious rubbing Kagami’s nerves all the wrong way.)

“Because you’ve skipped almost every single practice game since the start of training camp—” Kagami starts to ramble, huffing with a scowl, and Aomine just stares at him, bored, and somewhat pleased that Kagami’s wearing a red vest with a white #5 on it. “—and you decide to show up today of all days with  _those_  on your neck when you  _know_ I told you—”

He stops, mouth hanging open like he’s come across a revelation, before he starts again, speaking slowly. “You came because I told you not to.”

“Yeah?” Aomine asks, tipping back on the balls of his feet just as Kagami takes in a deep breath. He’s tight-lipped,  _annoyed_ , and steaming a faint red at the realization.

“God, you’re a fucking child.”

“Eighteen, young and youthful,” Aomine quips with a smug grin, reaching out to grab Kagami’s arm. He gives him an exasperated look, an eyebrow raised, a look that shows how  _done_  he is—it’s kind of funny really, to poke at all of Kagami’s wrong buttons.

“ _What?_  It’s not like anyone’s noticed it—” Well besides Kagami’s classmates and Tetsu, but not really the point. Aomine shrugs. “And besides, it’s about time I show these punks what  _real_  basketball is—”

“Oh. So, you’re  _playing_  now?” Kagami scoffs, brushing through his hair with his free hand. He sighs deeply just as Aomine leans forward and knocks his forehead against his. “You’re gonna kill my team again. Is this your idea of revenge?”

“You fucked up first.” Aomine says with a grin; he’s centimeters away from Kagami’s face, and he can see it perfectly and clearly. A small, fond smile inching at the corners.

Kagami is too easy to read.

“Whatever.’ Aomine feels a fist bump into his chest, pushing him back lightly. There’s a familiar spark in Kagami’s eyes and a semblance of a cocky smirk on his lips. “We’re going to take the gym today.”

A laugh bubbles from Aomine’s throat and he pushes the fist away from his chest, curling his fingers around his hand.

“Yeah, right. Get ready for another round of cops and robbers.”

**Author's Note:**

> ^q^ I hope that's okay and that it didn't end too abruptly ufufu. I hope no one minds these one-shot ish type of things as I expand more on this universe. I really like how hilarious the two are and how they kind of just...yeah. ^q^/ I hope I wrote them all right, ewehehe.
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for taking the time to read it! I hope you enjoyed it, and if not---I'll do my best in the next one. TqT///
> 
> If you have the time, please leave a kudo and/or a comment! I super appreciate it a lot! ^q^// See you in the next installment~


End file.
